


You Can Leave Your Stockings On

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex between Constantine and Z is literally magic...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Leave Your Stockings On

The thing about sex between magicians is that it is literally like magic. Not trickery or illusion, but real, honest-to-God magic. Of course, when you also practice Tantric intercourse, well....

John Constantine always had merely one condition: keep the stockings on. His rough fingers would run along her legs, feeling the silken diamonds of her fishnets. They'd become a part of Zatanna’s show—a trademark—as well as a part of her Tantra and a part of herself—a particularly enticing one to Constantine, who always tried to surprise her, uninvited (naturally), at her home, among her hanging veils and tapestries, in nothing but the stockings, just reading, relaxing, maybe exercising her power through thought or practice. The thick smell of incense would hang heavy in the air, making it smoky with an almost pink or red fog. Like a genie’s bottle; that’s what her place always reminded him of. And he loved to let that particular genie out to play every time.

It could last up to five hours between them, depending on their concentration, and if Zee had expended energy performing that day. For an entire hour, Constantine could lie atop her, inside of her, as she writhed and gasped beneath him, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, eyelashes fluttering, her mouth a tempting red 'O' when she came; he didn't even have to move, he could just meditate over her, within her, and she would cum—sometimes three or four times.

He would curl his fingers into the threads of silk when he finally did start to pump into her, trapping her ass, her thighs, the backs of her knees in his rough grasp. Soaring to new heights, new planes. Wet mouths entangling, hot against one another, and trailing along the other’s skin. Zee like particularly to nibble on Constantine’s nipple, making him buck harder. And they'd both be rested and refreshed by the end of it, though she felt suspiciously stiff when moving as they lay together on her cushions or her thick Persian rugs or wherever it had struck them to fuck. A joint was always the best excuse not to move at all, and was usually inevitable.

And if her father happened to call, he'd hear her giggling, or the tones of John's gruff, Liverpudlian accent in the background, he'd predictably ask in a clearly disapproving tone, "Are you decent?"

"Of course not," she'd answer, grinning. "But I am wearing my stockings!"


End file.
